When Shall We Three Meet Again
by Qwerky Qity
Summary: AU after seventh year. In another world, a moment's hesitation changes everything—and forever intertwines the fates of the families Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, and Greengrass.
1. Prologue: Sleep No More

**Title: **When Shall We Three Meet Again

**Auther: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. Nor do I own Macbeth.

**Summary: **AU after seventh year. In another world, a moment's hesitation changes everything—and forever intertwines the fates of the families Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, and Greengrass.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue:<strong> Sleep No More

_Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor  
>Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.<em>

—Macbeth, Act II, Scene 2

Harry Potter was sitting in the large Quidditch field behind Potter Manor, watching as his two sons played in the safe confines of the wards.

The wards on Potter Manor had been the work of dozens of generations of Potters, and making and breaking wards were practically the family tradition; they veritably made a living off warding. Harry's grandfather and great-uncle had both been warders, and his great-grandfather had been a curse-breaker. Harry himself had followed his father's career path though, and become an Auror, albeit one who specialized in breaking down the wards of wanted criminals. He had made it his mission to catch the Death Eaters who escaped justice when Voldemort died.

Lot of good that did him, Harry thought bitterly.

His sons' shouts brought him out of his dark brooding.

"Ha! You can't catch me!" The four-year-old James Potter teased his little brother as he ran. The two were playing a game of chase.

"Dad! Make him stop!" Albus Potter, at three, still stumbled on unsteady legs, desperately trying to catch up to his elder brother.

Harry smiled. It was always nice to see his boys playing together. Despite James' teasing, Harry knew that his elder son really did care for his brother. "Be nice, James," he chided lightly, chuckling as he watched the two continue to run around.

"Okay, Dad." As soon as Harry looked away, James stuck his tongue out at Albus, who was still trying to catch up to his brother.

Harry treasured the time he could spend with his children. Between his job as an Auror and all the media attention centered at his family, he rarely got to actually be a father without being interrupted somehow. However, his mood darkened as he remembered the last time the three of them were on this field together. It was Albus' birthday, which was held on this very field. Harry had invited all of Al's friends and his and Ginny's friends and their families to the party, and despite the fact that half of his guests were practically mortal enemies to the other half, the party had actually not degenerated into chaotic fighting and shouting, which was quite a miracle considering the volatile mix of guests present.

The various Weasleys and their wives and children had arrived first. By the time all five of Ginny's brothers had appeared, the party had already become quite boisterous. James and Freddy and Roxanne were running around pranking everyone, nine-year-old Victoire was attempting to emulate her mother's graceful movements, little Rose looked curiously at everything on the pitch but refusing to let go of her mother's hand…

The second family to arrive was the Malfoys. Scorpius Malfoy, who was Al's special friend (though Harry had no idea how exactly that friendship had been formed, especially considering that he could not recall when the boys first met) had come with his parents. Draco Malfoy and Harry had stiffly acknowledged each other, and his wife Astoria had smiled nervously at Ginny.

The two witches had been in the same year at Hogwarts, and had mostly not spoken to each other, but quickly hit it off at the party. Unfortunately.

Astoria's sister Daphne also came, but was clearly reluctant to mingle with the other guests. She mostly avoided everyone there, and flat out refused to talk to Harry.

Then came McGonagall, now the Headmistress of Hogwarts, old Slughorn, who was still continuing the "Slug Club" after all this time, Neville and his two daughters, Lavender and Seamus Finnegan, some of the old D.A. members…

Harry lost track of time as sat there contentedly, occasionally made to referee James and Albus' arguments. It was only when the light that shone on the grass dimmed that Harry realized that the afternoon was finished. "Come on, boys. Time to go home."

James and Albus both pouted as they realized that play time was over. As the three walked back to Potter Manor, Harry heard Albus sniffle.

"What's wrong, Al?" he asked his son gently.

"Miss mommy."

Harry's heart clenched.

That night, his son's words replayed in his head over and over, preventing him from falling asleep in his lonely bed as he tossed and turned.

* * *

><p>Hermione Weasley stared at her son Hugo, who already had a wisp of red hair growing on his tiny skull. He was not five months old, but looked much younger, having been born premature. As she looked at him, he opened his eyes sleepily, saw her, and recognizing that she was a familiar structure in his life, went back to sleep.<p>

Hugo mostly slept through the entire day, only waking to eat. He was a quiet baby, almost never babbling or crying. Hermione was almost disappointed in that; she had expected the work required to take care of a fussy newborn to take her mind off of things. Other things.

"Mama?" Hermione looked down to see her two-year-old daughter tugging at her robe. Rose had her father's blue eyes, and the Weasley hair, though the latter was as bushy as Hermione's own hair had been when she was a child.

"Yes, Rosie?"

"When's Daddy coming home?"

Rose Weasley had asked this question every single day for five months.

"Soon, dear." Hermione tried to smile. "Go to bed now, Rosie. You know that you should be asleep by now."

Rose Weasley didn't listen, stubbornly shaking her head. "You said that yesterday. And the day before. And before that. And Daddy still hasn't come back!"

"Your Daddy's a busy man, Rosie. He needs to finish his work first. Go to bed now, dear" Her voice trembled at the end.

Rose didn't look like she believed her mother. But she nodded and padded out of the room in her tiny, mismatched bunny slippers, the sight of which caused Hermione to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

Ron had bought them for her.

Hermione remembered it easily. Rose was giggling about her invisible "friend" who was a bunny rabbit, and insisting on getting her some friends, so kind, clueless Ron had gone to a Muggle store and got a pair of adorable white bunny rabbit slippers to play with Rosie's invisible one. Then, when one of them was accidentally flattened under the car, causing Rose to cry, he had tried to Transfigure it back, but it had turned into a patchwork of brown and black, rather than white. He had then attempted to charm it white, but Rose had said that she like having mismatched slippers.

Later, as she lay on the large bed, closing her eyes in preparation for sleep, Hermione remembered Rose's question.

At least Rose could remember a daddy, she thought bitterly. Hugo didn't even have that. Hugo wouldn't ever have that.

Hermione cried softly all through the night, and her tears did not stop until dawn.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy sat in a large leather chair inside the large study that had belonged to his forefathers, drumming his pale fingers over the polished mahogany desk. A bottle of wine, uncorked, sat on it, as did a single untouched wineglass, half-full.<p>

He remembered standing on the other side of the desk as a child in the few occasions he had got into trouble. He remembered being intimidated by the imposing figure that was his father, who sat in the large chair behind the desk. He remembered feeling small and insignificant.

Draco mused if the rug on the other side was charmed to make people feel small and insignificant. Maybe it was, like so many of the other things in Malfoy Manor: charmed to give an advantage to the family, and especially, the patriarch.

Even, now, though he was the one sitting on the chair on the other side of the desk, he still felt small and insignificant.

_Even_ when he was looking at his three-year-old _son_.

Draco wondered if something was wrong with him. Maybe the rug wasn't charmed after all. His son certainly didn't look very intimidated.

"Father?" Scorpius looked at him anxiously. "Something wrong?" He was surprising mature and advanced for his age, like so many other wizarding children.

"No." Draco shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "What did you say?"

"I want Al coming over." For some unintelligible reason, his son and Potter's son were as thick as thieves. "It's been five _months _since we play together!" Scorpius emphasized "months" as if it was the longest unit of time in the world, holding up five fingers on his child-size hand.

Draco Malfoy frowned. "I don't think Potter's father would like that."

"What?" Scorpius blinked, blond eyelashes fluttering over silver eyes. "Why?"

Because he hates me and Daphne, a little voice inside his head said nastily. Because by extension, he hates Astoria and you. Because he considers us murderers and doesn't want to associate with us. "The reason is irrelevant, Scorpius. Go to bed."

His son scowled slightly, but obeyed, pouting as he left Draco's office and childishly glaring at his father.

Draco picked up the wine he had not drunk all evening and downed it in one go. His hand trembled as he poured some more into the glass. Faster than he thought, the entire bottle was empty.

Maybe he was drunk. The bottle couldn't have been gone so quickly.

"Mopsy!"

A crack announced the tiny house-elf that had nursed him since he was a baby. "Master is wanting something?"

"More wine."

"Yes, Master."

Two cracks later, a second bottle lay open next to him. Soon, a third joined the second.

Perhaps sleeping would be a better than drinking if Draco wanted to forget, but he didn't think that he could fall asleep with those memories weighing on his mind.

He didn't think he could ever fall asleep again.

* * *

><p>Daphne Greengrass looked at herself in the mirror. Hmm…the new robes didn't fit her very well, the violent magenta color conflicting with her blue-black eyes.<p>

Note to self: do _not_ trust Pansy Parkinson's fashion sense. Ever.

She should wear the elegant silk robes Astoria bought her last month instead. They were a dark grey, and not as fancy as new ones, but much more comfortable. And _he_—

No, best not go there. As for jewelry, she had wanted to wear the diamond necklace her father had gifted her for her nineteenth birthday. However, when she opened her jewelry box, her eyes fell on the beautiful sapphire pendant _he_ had given her—it would be perfect. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would recognize it.

She hoped.

Daphne didn't know what she would do if someone like Skeeter recognized the pendant and spun an entire tale of love, betrayal, friendships and death.

If someone did, Daphne mused, it wouldn't be far from the truth anyway. Especially considering what had happened five months ago.

It was getting late, and she should be going to bed. Tomorrow was an important day, perhaps the most important in her life, a day she'd dreamed about since she was six years old and heard her father mention Io, her great-aunt who had dreamed of being Minister of Magic. Wouldn't do to be late to this, despite everything that had happened—or maybe because of it. To tell the truth, she thought her dream would have been ended five month ago by the angry public.

She looked in the mirror again. Symmetrical, unblemished face, full red lips that hid her blindingly white teeth, ski-slope nose beneath dark liquid eyes that were framed by long lashes, a tall, slender, model-nesque figure…and not as pretty nor as wanted nor as _loved_ as freckled, short, dumpy Ginny Weasley.

She curled up under her covers, but her body shook uncontrollably. Sleep did not come.

* * *

><p>The sun arose, but it brought no relief for the four who in peace slept no more.<p> 


	2. Chapter 1: A Heavy Summons

**Title: **When Shall We Three Meet Again

**Author: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter and/or Macbeth.

**Summary: **AU after seventh year. In another world, a moment's hesitation changes everything—and forever intertwines the fates of the families Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, and Greengrass.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>: A Heavy Summons

_A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,  
>And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers,<br>Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature  
>Gives way to in repose!<em>

-Macbeth, Act II, Scene I

_ "Leave them alone, Malfoy."_

_Malfoy chuckled. "Come to retrieve your little pet weasels from me?"_

_Harry snarled, wand arm rising, a spell half-formed inside his mind._

_Malfoy smirked, wand point digging further into Ginny's neck while one of his masked accomplices did the same to Ron. "Be careful, Potter," he sneered, "wouldn't want my hand to slip."_

_Harry forced himself to calm down. More than one life was at stake here. "If you let them go _right now_, I might be able to exempt you and your friends from the death penalty." The wizarding world had learned its lesson about sentencing criminals to Azkaban, which had lost its reputation of being unbreakable following the Second Great War._

_Malfoy chuckled again. "You know, Potter, I was actually aiming to get one of your little brats," he drawled, delighting in the fury that radiated as Harry heard this. "It would have been nice…but your dear wife is much better. I believe you were going to name your daughter Lily Luna?" He paused to let his words sink in. "And then, her foolish brother actually thought he could _rescue_ her." Malfoy scoffed. "But much better for me, I suppose. Two hostages for the price of one."_

_"What do you want, Malfoy?"_

_"What do I want? What do you think I want? I want revenge, of course."_

Harry forced a smile onto his tired face as he looked at his two sons. "Time for dinner, boys." The two already sat at the well-used kitchen table. Though Potter Manor had a dining hall, it was only used when guests came over. With heartbreak, Harry noted that there were three places set, when there should have been four, maybe even five.

The smell of sizzling ham and onion soup filled the room as Kreacher Apparated over, balancing three breakfast trays. "Breakfast is ready, Master," he squeaked, setting them gracefully before each of the three Potters.

"Thank you, Kreacher." The house-elf popped away, shooting one last worried glance at his master before disappearing.

James peered over at his father, seeming to hesitate before finally speaking up. "Dad?"

"Yes, James?"

"Can Teddy coming over tomorrow?"

"No." Harry fingers tightened over his fork and he stabbed a slice of ham with more force than necessary.

"Can Scorpius come?" Al piped up, emerald eyes bright. "I want to play with him."

"Scorpius isn't coming either." And if his father has any sense of shame, Harry thought bitterly, you won't ever see him again.

Silence descended as the two boys realized their father was in a bad mood. For a while, the three Potters just ate in peace, the only noise in the room coming from the clink of utensils on plates or glasses on the wooden table. James looked like he had gathered up enough courage to ask his father, who seemed more at peace than he had since their mother was at the table, why Teddy wasn't coming over, like he had wanted to for the past five months. Just then, a barn owl flew in the window, dropping a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ on Harry's pancakes. It hooted softly in apology, and flew away after Harry dropped five Knuts in the pouch on its leg.

He froze as he read the headlines: _MINISTER GREENGRASS' INAUGURATION: YOUNGEST MINISTER IN A CENTURY. _A large picture of Daphne Greengrass was splattered across the front page, wearing the traditional ministerial attire—and a sapphire pendant, half-hidden and probably missed by most observers.

Harry's fingers tightened around his fork and knife, before dropping them as he stood up abruptly.

"Finish your breakfast, Jamie, Al," Harry said this automatically, knowing his sons would try to follow him. "Dad has to go to work early today. Kreacher!" The house-elf appeared on command. "When James and Albus are finished, take them to play outside. Make sure they're safe."

"Yes, Master."

Harry hurried out of the house, his sons' protests fading behind him. His mind buzzed with frantic, half-formed thoughts and anxious, worrying questions.

She couldn't have worn it without meaning anything. She could_n't_. Not after everything that had happened—no, if she wore it, she was challenging him. He had two choices: avoidance or acceptance. And from the looks of the _Prophet_ today, it was past the time to pretend that what had happened did not happen.

Harry Disapparated with a pop as soon as he reached the edge of the wards. It was time to answer the call, however painful it might be to do so.

* * *

><p><em>"Why?"<em>

_No reply._

_"Ron _died_ there. I deserve to know why, don't I?"_

_He sighed, finally turning to look at her. He looked wretched, and Hermione wouldn't have forced him to answer her any other time, but they were talking about Ron's murderer. "Hermione, please…"_

_"She was complicit in the murder." Hermione couldn't help her voice from rising hysterically. "You know_ _it, you _have_ to know it, Malfoy as good as said that when we brought him in for interrogation."_

_"I would have thought that you of all people wouldn't believe Malfoy."_

_Hermione glared at him witheringly. "You had something to do with that too. I know that you pulled strings to quiet him before he could say everything."_

_"She was given a full pardon by the Wizengamot."_

_"Because _you_ forced them to."_

_He sighed again. "I lost more to them than you did, Hermione. Why would I try to protect the murderers?"_

The room was bright and cheery with its colorful wallpaper and homey-looking furniture and the rays of the evening sun—a stark contrast to the moods of its inhabitants: Hermione's wan, tired face bespoke her grief; Rose's bright blue eyes were wide with worry as she looked at her mother; Hugo's arms flailed, the baby infected by the heavy atmosphere that encircled him.

Hermione tried to force down her heartache when she was with her children, but her self-control could only go so far. Especially with the photograph on the front of the _Daily Prophet_.

Daphne Greengrass stood, prim and proper and pureblood, her lips curled into a smug smirk. The paper was singing her praises, and a glance at writer's name revealed that it was surprisingly someone belonging to the new, more liberal faction, not one of the conservatives that pureblood traditionally allied with, thought it seemed that the conservatives supported her as well. Hermione thought that the frenzy five months ago would have ended her political career, but it seemed that Greengrass was more slippery than she thought.

And that pendant. It looked like one of those family heirlooms pureblood liked to hoard, but Hermione was sure she had seen it somewhere before…

"Mummy? Do you know her?" Rose looked uncertainly at the semi-familiar woman in grey robes on the front of the newspaper. Maybe it was one of Mummy's friends at the Ministry. Mummy had lots of those.

Hermione took a deep breath, cursing herself for forgetting about Rose's over-average intelligence and observational skills. She couldn't tell Rose the entire truth, not yet. Hermione wasn't sure how her young daughter would take it, but if Harry wasn't going to tell his children the truth yet, Hermione would do the same. After all, Rose was cousins with James and Albus, and if she knew, they would know. The three children had been virtually isolated from the world for the past five months as she and Harry tried to shield them from poisonous reporters and others, who were much more dangerous.

Suddenly, before Hermione could reply, a second owl swooped in, black with fierce golden eyes. Hermione immediately reached up and snatched the note from its leg. The edges of the note were rough, as if it had been torn from a large sheet of parchment, and the messy scrawl in purple ink was barely recognizable.

_Behind my house. As soon as possible. I have it_.

* * *

><p><em>"Aunty?"<em>

_"Mmm?"_

_"Why are you staying here?" Draco bit his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn't meant for them to come out that way._

_Andromeda turned around. In the dim light, she closely resembled her sister Bellatrix, and Draco was still startled when he came across her sometimes, wondering if it was his crazy aunt, come back from the dead to torment him again._

_Andromeda smiled teasingly. "Have I overstayed my welcome?" Her tone showed that she knew what he had meant to ask. Then, her smile turned sad. "I know that you have been wondering why I brought Teddy over to Malfoy Manor, when Harry Potter is his godfather."_

_"People stay away from us now," Draco admitted freely. "My former friends all avoid me like the plague, not to mention what the newspaper is saying."_

_"Exactly. Family is most important at times like this." Andromeda looked him in the eye. "I brought Teddy over to teach him that Blacks stick together. A house divided cannot stand, and we are a house—a family. Harry has been kind, but he is not family. You are."_

Draco Malfoy sat at the head of the table, his head still throbbing despite the potion. Perhaps he should not have drunk that much last night. Perhaps he just had a headache from seeing Daphne Greengrass and that strange sapphire necklace on the front of the _Evening Prophet_. Perhaps it came from that stupid summons the black owl had dropped on his this morning.

He stifled a groan as another bout of pain wracked his head.

Astoria sat to his right, and next to her was Scorpius. They were sitting together, on one chair (despite that there was at least ten more around the table), their bright peals of laughter identical. Astoria always had been more open with her love for her son than his mother had been with him.

Mother sat on his left nowadays, during the few times when she was actually at the dining table. Most of the time, she ate alone, or with Aunt Andromeda. She had changed in the past five months, aging both physically and mentally.

With good reason.

"Draco?" His wife's voice shook him out of his dark thoughts. He turned to look at her. "Daphne's inauguration party as Minister of Magic is tonight."

Daphne's inauguration party…he had almost forgotten about that. The last inauguration party he had been invited to was for that blithering idiot Fudge, before he even started Hogwarts, and was one of the most boring, useless events in his entire childhood. After the idiot got kicked out, there had been the war, and the Malfoy name was all but ruined. They weren't invited anymore.

And he actually had a good reason for missing this one.

"Astoria, I have a meeting tonight. An _important_ meeting." And hopefully, one that could end his problems.

"What! But you've already missed the inauguration itself. If you don't go, people will talk."

Draco understood her meaning. It was the Slytherin way—the pureblood way—to present a unified public front, even amongst family. Which, of course, meant that he had to attend her special day.

"Let them talk." He stood up. "I need to leave."

* * *

><p><em>"You lost."<em>

_"Why are you here?"_

_"I understand that you've never really liked me, Daphne, but we're family now, aren't we?" His cold mercurial eyes gleam with something she cannot recognize, which unsettles her. Daphne is used to reading people, and she doesn't like it when they are unreadable,_

_Or unpredictable._

_"Only because Astoria was a fool."_

_He laughs. "Your sister is a bit…oblivious, is she not? She doesn't notice what goes on right before her, much less what goes on behind closed doors." He pauses, leaning forward for the dramatic flair all Malfoys loved. "But I do."_

_"You're not the only one." She is sure he can hear her heart thudding. "I know what you want from me."_

_"But you don't know what I can give you."_

_"You have nothing that I want."_

_"Then you must think that 'nothing' is synonymous with 'revenge.'"_

The inauguration had been earlier in the day, at noon to be precise. The turnout had been better than she expected, though she couldn't be sure that everyone there could be counted as a friend. Merlin knows how many political enemies she had. And that wasn't even counting the others, the ones who were much more dangerous, and could do much more than ruin her reputation.

Daphne sighed as she sank down in the comfortable armchair, and her slender fingers enclosed on the heavy pendant she had worn all day. Against her better, more logical judgment, she had worn it, and she was sure someone had to have seen it. Rita Skeeter's eyes seemed especially malicious behind those hideous glasses, but if she noticed something, she didn't comment. _He_ wasn't there, though. Not that she really expected _him_ to be.

After all, _he_ had been all but absent from public life for five months.

Her thoughts unconsciously went to _him_. She heard that _he _was coming to her inauguration. _He_ hadn't contacted her in five months, so _he _was probably here to confront her about something. Why now, she hadn't the slightest idea. Maybe because of the sapphire pendant. She knew she shouldn't have worn it.

"Daphne?"

Daphne Greengrass turned her head to see Theodore Nott step out of the Floo, dusting himself off as he stumbled outside, grumbling slightly. Theo never been very graceful Flooing.

"Is everything alright?"

"There's a problem."

"My inauguration party is in thirty minutes, Theo."

"I know. But you need to come. We keeping it very quiet, but there was a massacre in a Muggle town twenty minutes ago. And the perpetuators left the Dark Mark hanging above it."

She stood up immediately.

* * *

><p>Four people went to four different places, summoned by four unhappy tasks. Little did they know that what they would learn there would turn their worlds upside-down—again.<p> 


	3. Chapter 2: Which the Eye Fears

**Title: **When Shall We Three Meet Again

**Author: **Qwerky Qity

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or Macbeth.

**Summary: **AU after seventh year. In another world, a moment's hesitation changes everything—and forever intertwines the fates of the families Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, and Greengrass.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>: Which the Eye Fears

_The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,__  
>Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.<em>

-Macbeth, Act I, Scene IV

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter." The young secretary, clearly awed to meet Harry Potter in person, was looking at Harry with a disturbingly worshipful expression. "The Minister left half an hour ago, quite abruptly. She had meet someone important, I think."

"Where did she go?" Harry probed urgently. "Do you know? I need to talk to her."

The secretary's eyes were glazed as she nodded absently, before shaking her head as Harry's question finally registered. "No, Mr. Potter. But Mr. Nott—he's the new Senior Undersecretary—he visited her right before she left. Maybe he knows."

"Nott?" Harry was surprised. "Nott was here?" Nott was usually a recluse.

"Yes, Potter?" Theodore Nott suddenly appeared next to Harry. "What could our illustrious _savior_ possibly need from me?" His tone was acidic, but Harry expected this; Nott had hated him since fifth year when he had helped put Nott's elderly father in Azkaban. Apparently, the man was not only old but ill, and died quickly in prison, and Nott blamed Harry, at least in part, for this.

Theodore Nott had been one of the few Slytherins in Harry's year who had not taken the Dark Mark during the year under Voldemort, and thus one of the few who avoided the heaviest punishments. Since he had no physical evidence of being in Voldemort's service and there was no testimony that he had ever actively participated in illegal activities, he had been let go with a light sentence: a year of being closely monitored by an Auror due to evidence of links with known criminals. Nott had been allowed to keep his properties and family fortune, but from what Harry eventually learned, despite the long lineage of the Notts, several generations of squander and, Harry suspected, heavy bribery, meant that Nott inherited very little.

"Where is Minister Greengrass?" Harry asked, forcing himself to not respond in kind. "I need to speak to her."

Nott's lips curled unattractively. "The Minister's busy. If you have a message, you can leave it with me. I'm sure she'll be _very_ happy to reply to you later."

Harry grimaced. Nott's message was very clear. As one of Daphne's closer friends, he was obviously privy to information the general public was not. "Please excuse us for a moment," he said to the secretary, who nodded adoringly.

Harry veritably dragged Nott into the nearest office, which just happened to be the Minister's office, slamming him against the wall. "Spill it," he growled. "What happened to Daphne?"

"'Daphne' now is it?" Nott spat back. "Getting a little too familiar?"

Harry was contemplating seriously cursing Nott when the Floo flashed and a very worried looking Daphne Greengrass stepped out. "Theo, did you—" She broke off when she saw Harry holding his wand to Theodore Nott's throat. "What's going on here?"

Harry dropped his hold on Nott, making the other man gasp for breath. "Where were you?" he asked bluntly.

Daphne frowned. "That is private. What are you doing here?" she asked again. "You can't just barge into the Minister's office, even if you are Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes had already found the pendant she wore. Daphne, instead of flushing, met his eyes coolly when he looked back up. "You have no right to wear that," Harry hissed angrily.

"You gave it to me." Daphne crossed the room in two long strides. "Excuse us, Theo."

Nott looked murderous but he only gave a curt nod and left the room, leaving Harry alone with Daphne. Unwillingly, Harry took in the glamours that hid the shadows under her eyes, the dust—and was that dried blood?—clinging to the bottom of her robes. The past five months were awful, and Ginny's absence felt like a rusty dagger stabbing him at every turn, but they could hardly have been easy for her either. "Where were you?" he asked in a softer tone of voice. "Your secretary said that you left for something important."

Daphne sighed as she sat down. She closed her eyes. "There was an attack on a Muggle town. The perpetrators left the Dark Mark hanging above it."

"And you went to visit it alone?" Harry looked at her incredulously. Did she have a death wish? "What if whoever did it was lying in ambush? You're the Minister of Magic, which makes you a target to them."

Daphne shrugged. "I guess I'm lucky that they didn't," she said wryly. She seemed to have relaxed in his company. She had crossed her legs as she leaned comfortably into the big armchair. Harry noticed that the armchair was the exact replica of the one in the Room of Requirement.

"Where was the attack?" Harry asked, forcing his mind away from past memories. They were too painful, especially ones linked to the woman in front of him.

"It's none of your business."

"I'm an Auror!"

"You've taken an indefinite leave from work, remember?" Daphne countered Harry's protests easily. She always did. "I can't let you go there right now."

Harry sighed. "At least tell me what happened there."

Daphne looked down into her lap. "It happened about half an hour ago." Her voice was flat, emotionless. Which meant that whatever she saw there must have been very bad. "Theo told me, so I decided to go take a look. It—we won't have to Obliviate anyone." No survivors then. "And—oh Harry, it was so horrible. The Death Eaters, or Death Eater pretenders, or whoever it was, they murdered the Muggles like animals, killed them in ways too cruel to use on anyone." Daphne's voice only got colder throughout.

Harry knelt down in front of her. "Can I take a look?" he asked quietly.

Daphne hesitated. "Harry…"

"If it's really a Death Eater attack, I'm going to be involved in some capacity."

She reluctantly nodded.

There was a faint floating sensation before Harry found himself in Daphne's mind. He paused momentarily to wonder what Snape would think of his Legilimency skills—probably sneer. Harry had learned to respect the man, but he knew that it would take more than death to stop Severus Snape from thinking of him as James Potter's son. Then, Daphne's thoughts and emotions overwhelmed him. Harry winced as he accidentally touched the wrong memory. Then, he felt her nudging him towards her recollection that of that evening.

Quickly, Harry latched onto Daphne's memory of the incident. He felt her choking horror at the scene.

It was horrific. Corpses littered the streets; like she had said, they were killed like animals. Harry would have suspected the handiwork of Macnair had he not personally watched the man be Kissed following the defeat of Voldemort. Blood pooled around the shrubs and trees.

Harry felt nothing but hate and disgust towards the perpetrators when he saw the body of a girl who couldn't have been more than five, hanging from the playground bars in a sick parody of a swing. Her little brother had been cut open and seemed to be reaching for her even in death. Next to them was the parents; a family of four out on a trip to the park, not knowing that it would be their last.

And over everything was a sickly green Dark Mark, glowing in the sky. The snake seemed to be taunting him, its tail wiggling as it crawled through the skull.

Suddenly Harry became aware of something that Daphne had obviously not noticed, because the image was blurred compared to the other vividly brutal murders. Across the street, two young boys had been stuck to the windows of a store with something Harry didn't want to imagine. But what unnerved him was that one was red-haired and one was black-haired—_and they looked exactly like James and Albus_. Look back across the street to try to stop panicking, Harry noticed the clock shop. And then he knew where this site was—it was the exact same place as Ginny and Ron had been held hostage at.

He pulled out of Daphne's mind, shaking slightly, as he felt the strength leave him. "Who did it?"

Daphne shook her head. "We don't know."

Suddenly the door opened. "Daphne, your sister—" Theo Nott abruptly stopped as he stared at Harry, who was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was clutching at Daphne's legs in an inappropriate manner. He hastily stood up. "I was just leaving," he announced. Nott raised his eyebrows skeptically.

Daphne didn't seem perturbed. "Where is Astoria?"

"Waiting outside," Nott replied, glaring at Harry.

Daphne looked at Harry. "I'll see you later then, Harry."

"Bye," Harry replied as he quickly left the room. His face burned with embarrassment but his mind was still on the gruesome massacre at the village.

The message was quite clear: We'll kill them all.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger tapped her foot impatiently as she waiting for the rather impressive Charms to disappear before she walked straight through a fence. In the backyard a woman with glossy brown hair was waiting for her next to a picnic table. The woman turned around as Hermione entered and smiled wolfishly.<p>

Lavender Brown was a far cry from what she had been in Hogwarts. Greyback's attack had left her incurably scarred, but rather than tempering her outspoken personality, it only increased it, adding an unmistakable elegance and courage to her bearing. Back in Hogwarts, Hermione had always thought that Lavender was only good at Divination (and even that only because she loved the professor), so she was pleasantly surprised when seeing Lavender Brown appear in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, working to prevent werewolf attacks but also reduce the bigotry.

They had reconnected around the time Rosie was born, and Lavender was even named her godmother. Initially, Hermione had thought that perhaps she hadn't entirely given up on her "Won-Won" but these assumptions were quickly nixed, and Lavender had been nothing but a good friend—and a pillar of support after the accident. After hearing Hermione rage about the injustice of Daphne Greengrass' narrow escape from Azkaban (or more likely, execution), Lavender has decided to investigate the Minister of Magic to-be with her pureblood connections.

"Hi Hermione," Lavender greeted. The picnic table held three folders.

Hermione sat down in the other chair. "Hi Lavender. What did you find?"

"Blunt as always." Lavender gave a pained smile as she picked up the thickest folder, pushing it toward Hermione. "Look at this, Hermione."

Hermione eagerly took the folder and opened it, but her heart sank as she forced her to read through it. It described the entire process of the one event she would have liked to forget most. The newspaper clippings and handwritten notes blurred together. Hermione could recite it in her sleep now, so had the tragedy imprinted itself in her mind. "I know this, Lavender."

Lavender looked at her sadly. "Then read this."

Inside were various clippings and notes, and they focused on Daphne's life in and before Hogwarts. Hermione quickly skimmed through the newspaper article that declared that one Daphne Io Greengrass had been born to Hyperion and Lemore Greengrass, as well as one announcing the birth of Daphne's older brother Zephyr and her younger sister Astoria, who had married Draco Malfoy. Next was the clipping that announced the death of Zephyr Greengrass during Voldemort's reign; the newspaper had made the incident out to be an accident, but Hermione could read through the lines. The elder Greengrasses obviously did something to displease Voldemort and had been killed as a result. The rest were Daphne's O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. marks, which were quite excellent, as well as a variety of trivial information. "So what?"

Lavender reached across the table to pick up a clipping that had been hidden by the rest. The headline declared it was one of the many news articles announcing the rebuilding of Hogwarts. "You missed the most important part. Look closely at the photo."

Hermione peered at the black-and-white photograph. After about a minute a girl stepped in the picture. Hermione gasped as she glimpsed a flash of the mysterious blue pendant Minister Greengrass had worn to her inauguration. "She's wearing that pendant. Where did she get it?"

"That is in here," Lavender said grimly and she passed the next folder, which was even thinner than the first, over to Hermione, who opened it, dreading what she would see.

The topmost page described the pendant, with a very detailed, hand-drawn picture. It was an heirloom as Hermione had expected. It had belonged to an Italian family sometime in the thirteenth century, and had been crafted by dwarven jewelers. Then, as usual in the pureblooded world, a series of marriages and wars had taken it across the Continent and to England. The document did not know where it had ended up. Hermione looked at Lavender, who only gave a nod to tell her to keep reading.

She picked up the first page and the picture with shaking hands to look at the second document, which was a black and white photograph torn from a newspaper. On the back, someone had written: _Charlus Potter with his fiancée Dorea Black._ Dorea Black was wearing the necklace.

Dorea Black was Harry's grandmother.

Hermione threw the photo down. "At least I know why Harry helped her."

Lavender shrugged. "It's only a theory, Hermione. Don't be too quick to rush to conclusions."

Hermione whipped around to look at Lavender. "So why do you think he let her get off scot-free? Merlin, that woman aided and abetted the monsters who killed Ron and Ginny, and Harry suddenly decides to stop prosecuting her? Is there another reason?" She gave a bitter laugh. "I never thought that Harry was one to be led around by a pretty face."

"Calm down!" Lavender stood up, and her expression was intensely concerned. "Hermione, I'm on your side, remember? But it isn't fair to just accuse Harry of something. I mean, Harry Potter is probably the most stupidly noble person on the face of earth. He wouldn't let her off, not with Harry's idea of fairness."

"Then what?" Hermione whispered brokenly. How could Harry do something like that? How could Harry ever care for someone like Daphne Greengrass? "Then what, Lavender?"

Lavender was speechless.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy retched again as the memories surged up.<p>

Next to him, Theo Nott sneered. "Can't even take the sight of a few Muggles dying, Draco?" he mocked.

Draco glared at the man he had once considered, if not a friend, then at least a fairly close acquaintance. "Aren't you supposed to be on Greengrass' side, Nott?" he spat back. "Why are you going around killing Muggles? That is hardly going to make her job easier."

Theodore Nott only shrugged nonchalantly. "Daphne's nice to have around, but I can hardly depend only to her to move up in the world, so naturally I'm on my own side" He leaned back and smiled coldly at Draco. "If you had any brains you would be too."

Draco wasn't sure if Nott was referring that he should be his own side or if he should be on Nott's side, but he didn't feel like asking. Instead he put his head in his hands.

Mother would be ashamed of him, he was sure. He hadn't realized what he was going to do until Nott had brought him to that quaint little town, or rather, what remained of a quaint little town a little less than an hour ago. Before that, he had arrived at Nott's flat, and they had exchanged binding magical vows. Draco would do Nott one unspecified favor and Nott would ensure the rise of the Malfoys again, most specifically by getting Potter off their backs. Draco hadn't understood that he got the short end of the stick until Nott explained: Draco, who was one of the only Marked Death Eaters left alive and free, and therefore one of the non-prisoner and non-dead population would cast the Dark Mark and teach Theo to do it as well at that horrible Muggle massacre.

Draco still couldn't help but remember the sight of that poor little boy trying to get to his sister; the boy was around Scorpius' age, and blonde as well. He was certain Nott had purposefully steered him in that direction to make a subtle threat that Scorpius would suffer if Draco didn't obey. At least Draco hadn't been forced to participate in the killings.

Then Nott had explained that he had already fulfilled his end of the contract because Potter would obviously be focused on the new case, rather than watching what remained of the Malfoys. Indeed, they would probably be forgotten, and if Draco could develop a little political savvy like his father, he could easily rise in the Ministry again. Draco's heart had plummeted once he realized the full extent to which he had been manipulated and used by Theodore Nott.

No wonder Nott had managed to escape the aftermath of the Dark Lord's fall despite all he had done. No one had any hard evidence, no one living at least. Draco reckoned that a couple of Death Eaters who had turned up with their throats slit in the waiting cells could have testified against Nott, but their deaths had merely been brushed off by the "Light" side. Of course those self-righteous Gryffindors wouldn't care if a couple of people who were probably already doomed to die were killed—"rightful vengeance" they would call it.

And the worst thing was that he couldn't tell anyone about this, or of Nott's involvement. It hadn't been part of the vow, but Nott knew that Draco wouldn't be the one to spill the beans, unless he wanted to be Kissed and his family thrown out on the street, since he was quite sure that Potter wouldn't be so merciful this time around.

* * *

><p>"Aunty!" Scorpius rushed up and hugged her legs.<p>

Astoria followed her small son, beaming at Daphne. "Congratulations, Daph," she said, smilingly. "This really is a dream come true for you, for Aunt Io, too." She leaned forward to hug Daphne, careful not to bump into Scorpius, who was still refusing to let go.

"Thank you, Astoria." Daphne noticed the clear absence of Astoria's husband. "Where is your husband?"

Astoria's smile dropped. "He refused to come," she grumbled. "For someone who already has a son of his own, Draco can be awfully petulant and child-like at times. He said no, and nothing I could say or do would make him budge." She rolled her eyes. "Apparently he has some kind of important meeting today?"

"Oh?" Daphne carefully plucked Scorpius up. Her nephew was clearly a Malfoy, but he had the Greengrass cheekbones and mouth. "Are you happy today, Scorpius?"

Scorpius nodded vigorously, then seemed to remember something because he shook his head "Daddy wouldn't let Al come and p'ay wif me," he confided.

Al? Albus Potter, probably. For reasons Daphne could not discern, the boys who were such perfect replicas of their fathers were best friends. "Don't you have Teddy?" Teddy, Scorpius' Black cousin, the son of the werewolf and the Metamorphmagus. Harry's godson, too, if she remembered correctly.

"Teddy's at Hogwarts," Scorpius complained. "And the only thing he wants to do is read anyway."

Astoria laughed as she gently took her son from Daphne. "C'mon Scorpius. We shouldn't make your Aunt late to her own inauguration party."

Daphne smiled and followed her sister and nephew down to the ballroom.


End file.
